


12:03 (by Linda)

by mickeym



Series: Randy and Michael [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-21
Updated: 2002-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy's working late, and Michael's waiting up for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12:03 (by Linda)

**Author's Note:**

> This one is also Pierson's, but posted here to keep it in order with the rest.

I glanced over at the clock on my bedside table.  Twelve-oh-three.  Precisely four minutes since the last time I'd looked at it.  Well, hell.  I scrubbed my fingers over the back of my neck, then across my face.  What a way to spend a Friday evening, lying naked across our bed, bored enough to attempt to read one of the exciting-as-dry-toast textbooks Randy used in his genetic theory classes, whilst waiting for him to come home. 

Pathetic.  I fancied that I had once been much more exciting than this.

Hitching myself across the comforter---silk sliding across naked flesh was a lovely sensation---I leaned over the edge of the bed and placed the textbook back on the stack of other texts sitting on the floor on his side.  Every book in the stack sounded just as appealing as the one I replaced; most of them had titles that I couldn't even pronounce, let alone read with any comprehension.  Any time I needed humbling, all I had to do was glance through Randy's reading materials, and it put me in my place quickly.

Not that I often thought I needed humbling, but still, there they sat if I did.

I rested my head on my folded arms a moment, letting my eyes drift closed.  It would be so easy to let myself go off to sleep; I wasn't much of a night owl, but more of a lark, up with the sunrise.  But I didn't want to sleep now.  I'd fallen asleep every night whilst waiting for him to come home, and tonight, I wanted to be awake to greet him, to talk with him more than a few sleepily-murmured phrases, to share more than a half-hearted grope or two.

So, lying down was a bad idea, and I made myself sit up again.  Halfway through a luxurious, whole-body stretch, I heard the lock turn on the outer door, heard the tiny creak as it opened, and the muffled thump of it closing.  I snatched up my robe and pulled it on as I heard the louder, weighter thump of his satchel hitting the floor, then lighter thuds as first one cowboy boot, then the other, landed on the carpet.

It would be unseemly, undignified and girlish---all of which I was most certainly *not*---if I ran out to meet him, so I waited another moment, until I heard the refrigerator door open, before I padded slowly out to greet him, tying the belt of my robe.

Randy stood in the dark kitchen, illuminated by the light from the open refrigerator door, chugging orange juice from the container.  A golden drop escaped and trailed down his long throat before pearling at the collar of his shirt, where it absorbed into the blue material.  I had an urge to lick his throat, to taste the sweetness of the juice contrasting with the salty muskiness of his skin, and had actually taken a step forward, when I bit the inside of my cheek and made myself lean casually against the countertop.  Not yet.

"Hullo," I said softly.

Randy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set the now-empty juice container on the counter.  "Hey Michael," he said, equally as softly.  He looked very tired, with dark circles beneath his green eyes, and it seemed an effort to produce a smile for me.  "It's late.  Why're you up?"

I shrugged.  "Waiting up for you."  I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from touching him.  When he was this tired, Randy was prickly and sometimes unpredictable, and I'd learned to temper my physical reactions to him and not touch him immediately.  If I pounced, as was always my inclination, he sometimes took it wrong, and once he started sniping, I couldn't hold my own tongue.  A row generally followed, and as we were both rock-headed, it sometimes lasted a day or two.  I didn't wish to spend the weekend mad at him.

So after seeing the pattern, I'd learned to wait a moment, give him a chance to settle, to relax, and then I could touch him all I wanted, which was very much and almost constantly.  Even with six months of  living together under our belts, I craved him as I had no other.  After a lifetime of fierce independence from everyone else, such emotion was both wonderful and slightly disturbing, generally in equal measures.

"You have to work tomorrow," he said, and his deep voice sounded reproving.  He ran a big hand through his short black hair, and it stuck up spikily.  "Shouldn't have waited up for me."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," I said gently.

He blinked, then pushed up his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed at his eyes.  They were bloodshot.  "Well, fuck.  So it is."

"And as it's Saturday, I can stay up as late as I bloody well please," I replied tartly, which earned me a half-smile.  Even something that small made me feel ridiculously triumphant.  I'd gone all soft when I'd met him.  Given all the love-them-and-leave-them affairs I'd conducted in my lifetime, it would've been karma for him to treat me like dirt, but I'd never had anyone care for me as much as Randy did.

Randy bumped the refrigerator door closed with his hip, plunging the kitchen abruptly into almost complete darkness.  He  stepped forward, and I could feel the closeness of him, the heat of his body.  His hand settled on my shoulder, big and warm, and I took the step closer that eliminated the space between us, and slid my arms about his trim waist.

Ah, better.  Without his boots, Randy was half a head shorter than I, and he fit just so against me.  He sighed against my throat, and pressed his forehead to my neck, seeming to melt into me.  Although he was heavier, I let him lean against me and relished the fact that he would; fiercely independent, he so seldom did.  I stroked my hands over his broad back, and felt the tension that tightened the muscles.  Two and a half weeks of this project, on little food and less sleep, had left him strung out and exhausted, unusually quick-tempered, and I missed his easy-going, teasing nature.  Still, I had to admire his tenacity and dedication to his work.  My own work ethic was strong, and I couldn't abide layabouts and slackers.  Randy was neither, willing to spend the extra time, go the extra mile to ensure success.  It was one of many things I found very attractive about him.

I traced an idle pattern over his shoulder, the nape of his neck.  "Are you hungry, Caro?" I asked.

He shook his head minutely against my neck.  "No," he replied.  "Just tired.  I'll eat tomorrow."

I didn't argue, though I doubted he'd eaten much today.  Instead, I ran my fingertips over the razor-sharp line of his jaw, rough with stubble, and tilted up his face.  It was a pale blur in the darkness.  I focused on his lips.  His mouth was soft and full, an utterly beautiful, sensual mouth, made for long, slow, thorough kisses, and other, more intimate pleasures.  I loved it, though I thought he didn't like it because it was 'girlish'.  An acquaintance of mine had described it as a 'mouth made for sucking cock', which was accurate, but the remark had made me testy and had I not been so civilized, I'd have pissed on his shoes to mark my territory, which was basically anywhere Randy stood.  Ah, the things one thinks of doing for love.

Randy's breath was sweet and I could taste orange juice on his lips and tongue.  I kept the kiss light, and he made a soft sound and pulled back.  He pressed a kiss to the skin just beneath my ear, and rubbed his nose there, inhaling noisily.

"You smell really good," he murmured.  "I'll never smell sandalwood again and not get a boner."

I laughed.  Beneath his denims, he was still soft, though perhaps a little thicker than he had been.  Had he not been so tired, I know he'd have been fully erect, his button-fly would've been open, and he'd have reached beneath my robe to wrap his fingers around my own erection, which now nudged against his belly beneath the satin of my robe.  I was no better than Pavlov's dogs, really; all I had to do was get close to him, and I became aroused.

"You smell of chemicals and bleach and ozone and antiseptic soaps.  I get hard whenever someone opens the cleaning pantry."

Randy chuckled.  "Damn good thing you don't clean that often, isn't it?"  His hand crept over my hip, and stroked me lightly through the black satin before fumbling for the opening.  His touch felt wonderful, and my cock thought it was a perfectly splendid idea, but I closed my fingers about his wrist and stepped back, tugging at him. 

"Come and take a shower.  I'll wash your back." 

He nodded and followed willingly as I led him through the flat.  As we passed the bed, he pulled his glasses from the top of his head, folded the earpieces and put them carefully on his nightstand.  I'd had a couple extra pairs of glasses made, as our enthusiasm or forgetfulness as to where we'd thrown them when we had sex led to frequently broken spectacles, but he'd expressed a certain odd fondness for this particular pair, and was generally more careful with them.

The lights in the bath seemed too bright after the darkness of the kitchen and the mellow golden lighting of the bedroom, and Randy blinked owlishly before he adjusted.  I began to unbutton his shirt, but he pushed my hands away, so I turned to start the shower.  In a moment, heat and steam began to fill the room, and I turned back to Randy.

He stood looking at himself blearily in the mirror, rubbing at his chin, his denims unbuttoned and hanging crookedly on his hips.  A pale half-moon of an arsecheek caught my attention, almost begging for a caress, a lick.  Leaning forward, he frowned at his reflection.  "I look like hell."

I caught his gaze in the mirror, and stepped behind him.  "You don't look like hell," I said, and kissed his neck.  "You look tired."  I slid my hands over his broad, smooth chest, and they were dark against his creamy skin.  He desperately needed a shave; blue-black beard shadow made him look even more pale and drawn.  "But you're always perfect to me."

A grin tipped the corner of his mouth.  "You're such an idiot," he said, but without heat.

  

  1. Let me wash you."
  



Randy stepped out of his denims, and kicked them away, and I slipped out of my robe, coaxing him into the shower.  When he stepped beneath the scalding spray, he sighed with appreciation.

"I don't think I've ever been so grateful for your shower fetish," he said after a moment, leaning forward into the water.

  

  1. I doubted anyone else said anything either; his size alone was enough to discourage sniping of that sort, never mind the sharp wit and razored, biting tongue.
  



The water caressed him like a lover, sheeting over such smooth, pale skin, over broad, muscular shoulders, over a tight round arse and long, strong thighs.  If I had set out to design a lover to my specifications, to choose those things I found most appealing, I could not have done a better job than Randy.  I soaped him slowly and leisurely, enjoying myself thoroughly, listening to his moans of pleasure as I massaged tense muscles and found sore spots to work out with my fingers.

When finally we were both in danger of turning into prunes, I dragged him, half-asleep, from the shower, and toweled him dry.  Uncharacteristically passive, he allowed it, turning as I commanded, lifting an arm or leg as I bade him.  I thought I should probably take advantage of this in some manner, perhaps gain some concession such as getting him to agree to taking a three-day-weekend off; Randy was never this biddable.  But instead, I pressed a kiss to his navel, dried myself off quickly, and guided him into the bedroom.

He landed on the bed upon his belly with a 'whoof', curling into the comforter and pillows.  I returned to the bath, picked up and folded towels, and put his clothes into the hampers.  When I came back to the bedroom, Randy had spread out to cover most of the bed.  The sight of that broad, muscled back, and firm arse on open display made the blood rush riotously in my veins.  All mine.  I leaned over and licked the gentle curve at the small of his back, unable to help myself.  He tasted a little of oatmeal, and I smiled against his soft skin.

Randy's chuckle sounded muffled against the pillows.  "I taste better with fava beans and chianti," he said.

"I don't like liver," I replied.  I stretched out beside him, curling into his body.  He unwrapped an arm from about the pillow and then shifted, so he could put his arm around me, instead.  Ah, that was infinitely better; he was so warm.  When my cock, hard and needy, shifted against his thigh, that was better still, and I couldn't help the minute thrust or two against him.

He opened one green eye, and it crinkled with amusement.  "Have a problem there, darlin'?"

"It's a constant source of trouble for me," I said in a low, confiding tone.  "Has a mind of its own, it does, and an agenda that has absolutely nothing to do with the grey matter between my ears."

"Don't they all.  Women are so lucky," Randy said with a tired sigh.  His hand trailed over my back, over my hip, and I arched into his touch like a cat begging for stroking.  "I'm too tired to get it up, but you can fuck me if you want."

Although I wanted nothing more than to push into his tight, hot body, to feel his powerful legs wrap around me, his strong fingers to dig into my shoulders, I preferred him a little more lively and awake.  I kissed his arm.  "Hmm.  Necrophilia is where I draw the line."

"So there *is* a line?"  His one visible green eye glinted, and I turned the kiss into a sharp nip.  He pulled back, laughing, a bright red spot on his biceps. 

"The sheep was merely youthful experimentation.  Besides, I was in Scotland at the time, so I was attempting to fit in," I teased.

Randy snorted as he laughed, and rolled to his back, rubbing his eyes.  "You Brits are so weird," he said with a grin.

"I never denied it," I said.  When his hand slid around the back of my neck and pulled, I went with it, allowing him to tug me atop him.  Full body contact felt even better, and helpless to resist, I licked and sucked at his throat as my hips worked against his, my cock gliding against his smooth, flat belly.  He grunted as I sucked a little too hard, and fisted a hand in my hair, pulling me off his throat.

"No marks, remember?" he said softly.

"Io desider voi così tanto," I whispered.  "I want you so much."  My mouth felt hot and swollen, and I wanted to mark him with more lovebites, blooming like scarlet roses against his pale skin, to show I'd been there.  Randy shivered beneath me as I licked the one on his throat, soothing the reddened mark.  His big hands slid down my back, tightened on my arsecheeks, and squeezed hard.  I loved it; I loved how big he was, how strong, how he wasn't afraid to use his strength, how I could let go with him.

"Y'know what I want?"  His voice sounded husky in my ear, and I made myself stop moving against him to listen.  He didn't voice his desires often, preferring simply to act, to guide me into what he wanted me to do, so I paid attention when he did.

"What?  Anything...."  The arch of his collarbone demanded tasting, so I licked across it, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"I want...I want you to jerk off for me.  Let me watch."  Faint pinkness chased across his cheekbones, and it amazed me, after all we'd done together, that it could embarrass him to ask for such a simple thing.  My cock thought it a truly wonderful idea, and I surged against his belly, but then it wasn't too particular as long as Randy was involved in some way.

I licked across a broad, smooth pectoral, and nosed into his armpit; I loved his smell, either fresh from the shower, or directly from an afternoon of playing basketball.  "Mmm.  I can do that."

"Okay."  Randy's voice sounded somewhat faint, and embarrassed, then strengthened as he tugged me out of his armpit.  "Stop that.  It tickles.  You're such a perv."

"Absolutely."  But I raised myself up on my elbows, kissing a nipple in passing.  He shivered beneath me again.  "Comfortable?"

"Not really.  Hang on a minute."

Although I didn't want to move, to lose contact with his smooth, hard body, I shifted up and away.  It took a moment for him to center himself in our big bed, to get the pillows behind his head and shoulders just right, but when he did, he sighed deeply and seemed to melt into the mattress.  He looked tired, relaxed, but with a small edge of excitement tossed into the mix.  His own cock, big and thick even when soft, lay across his thigh, moist with my juices from rubbing against him.  I wanted to lick him clean, to nose beneath his heavy balls and inhale his scent, to push his legs up and taste his most secret, sweetest place.

He laughed softly.  "You look like you want to eat me alive."

I smiled at him, more fierce than friendly.  He spread his thighs, and I settled between them on my knees, sitting back on my heels.  The stretch of quadriceps felt good, and centered me, gave me focus on something other than the demanding, fiery ache of my cock.  It curved out from my body, flushed dark; the foreskin had already pulled back leaving the head exposed, wet and shiny with fluids.  I ran the very tips of my fingers up the shaft, and skimmed over the head, getting my fingers wet.  It felt so good I shivered, and then brought my fingers up to my mouth to taste.

Bitter-salty, not like Randy's own somehow sweeter-tasting juices.  One taste of him, and I'd wanted no one else.  I licked my fingers then slid them into my mouth slowly, watching him through half-open eyes.  His soft mouth parted as he drew in a deep breath, and I could almost watch his pupils grow huge and dark.  No matter how tired he couldn't help but respond; his nature was so rooted in the sensual.  I suckled my fingers as I would his cock, drawing them out slowly, flicking my tongue over the tips.  Randy's hand slid down his belly as his still-soft cock twitched on his thigh, and I smiled down triumphantly at him.

"You asshole," Randy said, but it was a fond endearment coming from him in his deep, honeyed voice. 

My smile turned into a laugh of delight as I ran my fingertips over my lips, down my throat, and into the mat of fine black hair that covered my chest, so unlike Randy's smoothness.  I ruffled my fingers through it, skimming lightly over tight nipples, stopping to tweak them lightly.  Electricity arced down to my cock, and it throbbed heavily, demanding attention.  A moment more, I promised it, before pinching my nipples again, harder.  The bright sensation sliced through me, and I bit my lower lip, my hips thrusting toward Randy. I liked a bit of sharpness with the pleasure; it made the sweetness that much more intense.

I sent my fingers questing down my belly, stroking, scratching the taut skin lightly.  It felt good, but not as good as Randy's touch.  Over the slight indention of navel, and then down the thin line of hair that led to my cock, Randy's "treasure trail."  I ached to touch myself, but made myself wait for that particular pleasure.

"C'mon, do it."  Randy's voice sounded strained, and I opened my eyes to look down at him.  He already had his own cock in hand, palm sliding over half-firm flesh.  I had an urge to fold myself down onto the bed, drape his thighs over my biceps, take him into my mouth and suckle to see if I could make him hard.  The picture was so vivid in my mind that I had to wrap my hand about myself and squeeze, to keep myself from coming at that moment.  The corner of Randy's mouth lifted in a quirk of a smile, and I knew then he'd seen every thought cross over my face as I'd experienced them.

After the immediate urge passed I shifted, spreading my thighs as I knelt there, offering myself for display.  Although I wasn't handsome, my face dominated by the aggressive blade of nose, I knew my body was good to look at, good to touch, lean and long-muscled, and had found much favor with both women and men.  I had neither false modesty nor shame, and let Randy look as he wished, smiling down at him as his green eyes devoured me. 

I trailed my fingers up my thighs, teasing around the cloud of dark wiry hair, cupping the heaviness of my sac, spreading my legs just a little more to give my balls more room.  As the pleasure built, as one sensation slid seamlessly and effortlessly into the next, I closed my eyes and finally, finally, slid my hand over the length of my cock, slowly rubbing up and down the length with my fingertips.

Good, good, so good.  My hips settled into a slow pumping motion, not unlike riding a horse, though it was pleasure I rode, a beast no less powerful.  My blood thrummed in my veins, and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest, hear my quickening breath.  I took a better grip, and foreskin slid smoothly beneath my hand as I stroked more quickly, my hand growing wet from the seeping head.  My free hand ran back up my belly and pinched a tight nipple sharply, and I grunted from the bright fierce sensation that arced through me. 

"Fuck, that's...so...."

I opened my eyes.  Randy lay flushed before me, eyes flashing darkly.  He licked his lips as he watched me, stroking his own cock, which looked fuller and thicker than it had before, but still not hard.

"For you," I said, my voice sounding breathy to my own ears.  "For you."

I gathered my sac in my free hand as I stroked harder, faster, rolled them, squeezed them gently, then not so gently.  My whole body seemed to hum as I pumped into my hand.  It felt so damn fucking *good* that I wanted it to last forever.  I wanted it to be Randy's hand upon me, pulling sensation from me, his hand, his mouth, his body making me feel like this.  My heart thundered in my ears, and I could hear my own breath, gasping as my coming welled up within me, ready to overflow.

Randy moved suddenly, surging up from the bed to his knees, faster than I thought possible given his exhaustion.  One big hand went around the nape of my neck, fingers digging in, and the other went to cover my moving hand as his mouth slipped over mine.

His mouth was hot, sweet, demanding, his tongue aggressive, and without argument I gave over dominance of the kiss to him.  As much as he was mine, I was his, and he could have anything, everything from me. I opened to him, surrendered to him, and stroking myself quickly and almost violently with him, came so hard I thought I emptied brains as well as seed into our hands and onto our bellies.

He surrounded me, held me while I shuddered and thrust against him, my body still in movement, though we were both slick with my come.  Randy released my mouth and I gasped for air, dark sparkles shimmering along the edges of my vision.  I pressed my cheek against his rough one, and clasped him tightly to me, smearing my seed over his soft skin, holding him fiercely until I began to settle.  He crooned softly in my ear, caressed the nape of my neck, and let himself be held so tightly because I needed it, and he loved me.

When I stopped shaking, and would have drawn away a little, Randy shushed me and eased us both back onto the bed.  It took a moment of shifting to get bodies and arms and legs arranged to our liking, and to get the cover drawn over the both of us.  My whole body tingled and throbbed against the cool sheets and his hot skin.

"Thanks, darlin'," he said softly, his Texas drawl more pronounced, as it always was when he was aroused, or tired, or angry.  "That was...somethin' else.  No wonder you like to watch me...."

I laughed against his shoulder.  "I think I'll always be more of a voyeur than you, Caro," I replied.

"Maybe."  He ran his palm over my shoulder, and down my arm, sliding his fingers through mine.  "It won't be like this much longer.  I think...maybe another day or two, and the pressure will be off, and I can keep normal hours again.  Then maybe we can be together again, the right way."

"Every way is the right way," I replied, and tried to stifle a yawn, but couldn't.  I wasn't certain what time it was, other than it was far, far past my bedtime, and that, combined with a spectacular orgasm, combined to make my mind fuzzy and my body ache for sleep.

Randy chuckled softly.  "Says the man who's probably done it if it's physically possible."  But he softened that with a kiss that slid across my forehead and a closed eye, landing on a too-sharp cheekbone.  I smiled, sleepily, and gave his hand a squeeze.

None of it mattered now.  After a whole lifetime of looking, I'd finally found the one who pleased me as no other, who fit me, who could stand toe to toe with me no matter how angry or frustrated I became and give me back as good as I gave.  Someone who loved me for who I was, rather than for what I could give him.  And I'd been around long enough to know just how rare that was in my circles. 

"Per sempre, Caro," I murmured, and slid into sleep to the gentle caress of his hand.

~finis~

 


End file.
